Chapter 4 - The Scent of Strategy
As the minutes ticked past 7:15 p.m., the atmosphere in the kitchen underwent a subtle, seismic shift.
The deafening noise of destruction had given way to the rich, intoxicating aroma of sizzling garlic, rendered pancetta, and melting butter. Serena moved across the kitchen with economic, practiced grace, boiling water, whisking eggs and grated cheese in a large glass bowl, and dropping fresh spaghetti into the bubbling pot. She wasn't fighting the boys; she was simply operating in their midst as an immovable force of nature.
Victor watched from the shadows, his dark eyes tracking every single movement she made. He had hired dozens of specialists, educational consultants, and high-priced child psychologists, all of whom treated his sons like porcelain dolls or wild beasts. Serena treated them like human beings who were simply starving for boundaries that actually held firm.
When Nico made a subtle move toward the spice rack with the clear intention of dumping paprika into the boiling pasta water, Serena didn't yell across the room. She simply looked right at him, caught his eye, and said, “If you’re going to help me grate the pecorino cheese, you need to wash your hands first. Otherwise, dinner is going to taste like floor dust and stale cereal, and I refuse to serve subpar carbonara.”
Nico froze, his hand hovering inches from the paprika jar. He looked at the cheese grater, then back at Serena, utterly disarmed by the casual inclusion. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled his hand back and walked over to the sink, washing his hands with soap while muttering under his breath.
Marco scowled from his post near the island, realizing their united front was crumbling from the inside. “Don’t help her!” he hissed at his brother.
“It smells good,” Nico mumbled back defensively, eyeing the bubbling pan where the creamy carbonara sauce was beginning to thicken to perfection.
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“It smells like a trap,” Marco countered.
“It smells like dinner,” Tommy spoke up for the first time all evening, his small voice cutting through the kitchen like a bell. He pushed himself up from his corner and walked slowly toward the island, his eyes fixed on the warm garlic bread Serena was just pulling from the oven.
